Nostalgia
by angerwasallihad
Summary: 1x09, "Cheaters Never Prosper." Sharon is visited by a rather insistent bout of nostalgia on the way home at the end of a long day. What she finds there only encourages the feeling.


**Disclaimer: So, obviously, not mine. Just playing in the sandbox.**

**AN: So I'm sure this scene has been done before, but I doubt it's been done exactly like this. It's done in a similar way to my other story, "Engulfed." I've found that re-writing canon scenes from a single character's perspective can be a really great exercise. I'm also a sucker for the mothership and I find Sharon's head absolutely fascinating, so here we are. That said, if you like these and there's a particular scene you're interested in, let me know! I love doing these. **

Sharon was feeling nostalgic.

For the first time she could remember, she had actually been happy they'd been called in on a weekend to wrap up this fraud mess. Not because she'd gotten to read that seriously misguided Vegas cop the riot act—okay, yes, she enjoyed that to a certain degree, old habits—not because weekend work meant casual jeans and that wonderful jacket she so rarely got to wear—true, she wasn't really a casual person, but that didn't mean she didn't appreciate her casual weekend attire—and not even because it meant they were getting overtime—Sharon never had to worry much about money, not since she'd disentangled herself from that chaotic bowl of spaghetti that was Jack's finances. No, today she was relieved to be working through the weekend because it distracted her from the cold and empty condo awaiting her at the end of the day.

So yes, nostalgic was the right word, Sharon thought as she made her way slowly back to her car. She missed having someone waiting for her at the end of the night. Yes, she'd lived alone for quite some time now, she considered as she opened the car door and got in. Ricky and Beth had moved out nearly five years ago, and Jack's sporadic visits were far from stress-relieving. But she really missed them, she realized as she turned the keys in the ignition and headed back home.

To be honest, she hadn't been sure about this whole foster parenting thing. With Rusty, it was more than just becoming a parent to a less than cooperative teenager. He came with certain challenges that not everyone was able to handle. And in the end, that was what had convinced her to take him; who better to handle those challenges? If anyone could save him, it was Sharon. And she really did like saving people from bad things.

This Daniel Dunn situation distinctly complicated things, however. Because no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something not quite right with this Mr. Dunn. Even before the events that had unfolded yesterday afternoon at the station, there had been something gnawing at her, and she couldn't quite put her finger on it. It had taken all her resolve to keep from talking Rusty out of going for the weekend. In the end, she had remembered how important it was for Rusty to be given choices and the freedom to make those decisions. And Rusty was right. Mr. Dunn wanted something, clearly, and maybe by the end of this weekend they would all know exactly what that was. She was probably just holding on so tightly because she knew what a void his absence would leave in her life, she thought. And he was a high risk child, she reminded herself sternly. She just wanted to make sure he had a parent who could take care of his issues.

Rusty, Ricky, and Beth continued to rattle around in the forefront of Sharon's mind as she parked the car and made her way up to the apartment. She wasn't wallowing, she assured herself as the elevator doors opened on her floor. No, she was just a little lonely. As she pulled out her keys and walked toward her door, she was visited by a fond memory of a Christmas getaway several years prior. There had been lots of snow, she remembered, turning the keys in the lock and pushing the door open to the dark apartment. Ricky and Beth had been grown, but they had still built snowmen together. Well, one snowman; Beth had insisted on some sort of snow dancer, "Snowmen are so mainstream, Mom! Let's make a woman, a pretty one who can dance or something!" Beth had then proceeded to build a beautiful and intricate dancing snow woman, complete with flowing skirts and curves in all the right places. She always had been the artsy one, Sharon thought as she set down her keys and purse on the table by the door. Maybe she could call Beth. It had been a while since they talked, and Beth was usually good about not blowing Sharon off when she called. Sharon pulled out her phone as she walked further into the apartment, checking the time. No, calling now wouldn't be a good idea; it was much too late on the East Coast now. Oh well. She sighed as she flipped on a light in the living room, continuing towards the couch and setting her phone down on the end table, turning the lamp on as well.

She started to take off her jacket, then stopped as her eyes fell on Rusty's knapsack on the coffee table. Was it just wishful thinking? No, it was there. Rusty never went anywhere without it, and if it was here that must mean— "Rusty?" She called into the dark apartment, a little hopeful. She pulled off her jacket the rest of the way, swapping it for the little cardigan she loved, leaving the jacket on the chair. "Rusty, are you home?" She turned to walk down the hall towards his room. Suddenly she realized that if he was here, something must have gone wrong. While she was happy to have him back home now, especially given her present mental state, there was suddenly an ominous feeling in her stomach. It was that gnawing feeling she'd been getting around Mr. Dunn, and it didn't bode well.

"What happened?" She was nearly outside his door now, and she couldn't keep the worry from her voice.

"Can we talk about it in the morning?" His voice was muffled by the closed door. The feeling in Sharon's stomach intensified. Something wasn't right. Had he done something? His relationships with men, particularly older men would always be complicated given his history, she knew that. So what exactly had happened?

"Is everything alright?" She stopped now, her face right up against the door, listening hard. Silence. "Do I owe Daniel a call?" She switched from her concerned parent tone to stern disciplinarian in a flash, hoping to get at least some of the story, even if she had to drag it from his protesting lips.

Immediately, she heard movement. "Wait, wait, wait. I'm coming." Sharon relaxed a little. Something was definitely up, and from Rusty's reaction, it was quite possibly his fault. But it seemed like he'd spill without too much encouragement, so that was good. "Just… Just don't freak out, okay?" His voice sounded small now, still muffled behind the door. Clearly he was worried about her reaction to whatever had happened. A part of her knew he always half-expected to be hit or screamed at for any wrongdoing, and it broke her heart. Determined to keep her face impassive and react calmly to whatever had happened, she waited. The door opened, and Rusty's face appeared. Whatever she had expected, it hadn't been that.

The left side of Rusty's face was purple, bruised, and swollen. His left eye had quite a shiner, with red and purple blotches on the surrounding skin. His left cheek was swollen, and his lip was split and bleeding. But all that was nothing to the sad, deadened look in his eyes. She'd seen that look before, on the faces of countless victims. Never before had she seen it in the eyes of one of her children. It cut her right to the core, and she felt a sharp intake of breath, half gasp, half sob, raising her hand up to her mouth and nose in that characteristic gesture of utter dismay. "Oh my God," she choked out.

"Don't worry," Rusty started. "I didn't hit him back, I just ran, and I used the hundred dollars you gave me to get a cab."

Sharon lead him down the hall back into the living room as he spoke, repeating "Oh my God," under her breath as they went. Usually she refrained from touching him unless it was absolutely necessary; she knew how important personal boundaries were for a young man with his history, but this was a special situation. It was all she could do not to draw him into her arms and hold him tightly against her body, but she contented herself with a comforting arm around his shoulder as she lead him to the couch. "What did he do to you?" She pointed to the couch. "Come right there, let me see you in the light." She was still in a certain amount of shock. She had known something was off. _How _had she let him go off with that bastard when she _knew _something wasn't right? _How _could she have been so stupid?

Rusty threw himself down on the couch heavily, looking up at her as Sharon scrutinized his face closely. "What happened?" She asked, her voice low and intense, careful to remain calm. She brought her right hand up to smooth his hair comfortingly around the injured side of his face as Rusty sighed and began to speak.

"Annie, his obnoxious fiancée, was asking me all these like, really personal questions, about like, how I'd gotten along without my mother," Sharon moved around the back of the couch towards the kitchen to get the first aid kit and an ice pack as she listened. Rusty turned over the back of the couch to continue. "And then I thought, like, you know, why not just get the whole gay hustling thing right out there?" Sharon nodded as she rummaged in the freezer for the ice pack, partly in disbelief because she could see where this story was going, and partly just because she didn't know what else to do. She was still so shocked. "And then when I did that, Annie kinda freaked out, and then Daniel took me out side to talk." Sharon gathered all the supplies and made her way back over to the couch, still listening intently. The rest of the story came out in a bit of a rush. "And then he accused me of like, trying to ruin his wedding, and then I told him that I could care less about his stupid wedding, and then…" Rusty stopped. Sharon was sitting facing him now, the first aid kit on the table in front of them, an ice pack in her hand. "And then he hit me." Rusty finished quietly.

Sharon brought the ice pack up to his face, one hand under his chin, trying to remain calm in the wake of his story. "Why didn't you call me?" She spoke softly, watching him intently.

"Because," he looked at her, pleading with her to understand. "Sharon, I knew you'd be upset." Well, that was the understatement of the century, Sharon thought to herself. Upset, was she? No. She was livid. She was angrier than she had been in a very long time. Truth be told, Rusty was probably right; if he had called her, she very well might have lost her temper with _dear _Mr. Dunn. And then where would they be? No, this put them at a distinct advantage, she decided. "And I wanted to think things through," Rusty's words cut through Sharon's rapid thoughts. "And—" he lifted his hand to the ice pack Sharon was attempting to hold to his eye. "We're past the ice stage on my face." He started to pull the ice pack away, but Sharon tried to brush his hand away.

"How can you be so sure?" She gave him The Look, and he gave in, continuing to hold the ice pack to his face while she pulled open the first aid kit on the table. That look worked every time, whether with teenagers or certain curmudgeonly lieutenants.

"I'm sure," Rusty said. And Sharon saw it in his eyes again, that deadened, sad look she had seen before. She started pulling things out of the kit to deal with his eye and lip while he began to speak again. "My mother's boyfriend used to do this sort of thing to me like, once a week." Sharon looked up at him again, trying to remain calm and just letting Rusty talk. He was opening up to her, and she didn't want to impede that for any reason, particularly her own comfort. She needed to hear this, and he needed to say it. She looked quickly back down at the kit, trying to remember what she was doing. "'Til I beat the crap outta him." Sharon glanced over at him again, knowing the pain was clear on her face. "And then the next day, he and my Mom dropped me off at the zoo." He lowered the ice pack, looking away from her, while she continued to look intently over at him. "So now you know everything." His voice almost cracked on the last word. He hadn't cried yet, and Sharon knew he wouldn't cry in front of her, but he wanted to, she could tell. And the fact that he wasn't running away from her was very telling.

She nodded and brought her hands back up to his face, one hand under his chin, the other gently dabbing at his lip. "Look," Rusty started again. "Did I do anything I need to apologize for?" He still seemed a little worried that she would be angry with him.

Sharon grimaced a little as she continued dapping at his lip. "No," she said emphatically, shaking her head at him. "We are past the apology stage of our relationship with Mr. Dunn," she continued. "And we have moved on to the 'please don't let me drive over to his house and shoot him in the head' stage." Rusty looked at her questioningly, like he wasn't sure if she was joking or not. To be honest, Sharon wasn't too sure about that herself.

She stopped dabbing at his lip and pulled out some antiseptic lotion. Rusty spoke again. "On the bright side, I guess I don't have to go back to Daniel's house now, right?"

Sharon looked back up at him, unscrewing the cap on the antiseptic lotion as she thought back to her earlier revelation about their rather advantageous situation, if it could indeed be called that. "No," she said thoughtfully. "But there is a good chance that he's going to come over here." Another thought occurred to her, and she screwed the cap back on, setting aside the tube for a moment. "Oh. Wait a minute. Before I put this stuff on your bottom lip," she pointed at the antiseptic with her finger. "Lift your head up." She motioned with her hand as she rose to retrieve her phone from the table behind her.

"Why?" Rusty asked, as she leaned over the table to find her phone.

"I'm gonna take some pictures," Sharon explained. She could see in his face that that was not what he expected. It pained her to think about how many times he had been through this, being beaten by a grown man, without anyone ever sticking up for him or attempting to hold the adult responsible. This time, at least, he would get what he deserved. She held the phone right in front of his face, snapping a couple of photos. "One more," she murmured, turning the phone sideways to get a better angle. "Now let me get in close," she said quietly, putting the phone right up next to Rusty's face and snapping a couple more. "Alright," she said finally, putting the phone back in her pocket.

She settled back on the couch in front of him and picked up the tube of antiseptic again. She squeezed a little onto a cotton swab and brought both hands gently back up to his face, softly dabbing while wincing sympathetically with him. "You know," she started conversationally in an attempt to lighten the mood, "this reminds me of a time when Beth came home from Ballet class with a black eye and a split lip not unlike yours, mister." She continued to dab at his lip and a small bit of broken skin around his eye.

Rusty looked at her incredulously. "Somebody beat her up in _dance class_?"

Sharon finally set down the cotton swab. She pushed is hair back from his forehead and looked at his whole face critically to make sure she hadn't missed anything, then held the ice pack back up to his face, despite his protests. "I don't want to hear it, young man. I say it could still use the ice." She held his hand up to the ice pack, flashing him The Look again, and he complied. "But yes," she continued as if there hadn't been an interruption, starting to put the first aid kit away again. "Haven't you heard? Those dancers are absolutely _vicious,_" she deadpanned, shooting him a sideways glance. Rusty still didn't look convinced. "Oh, alright," Sharon relented. "I mean, yes, they are absolutely vicious, but they didn't beat her up." She grinned cheekily at him.

"No, when she was about sixteen, she came home from dance class with a split lip and a pretty nasty bruise under her eye." She zipped up the first aid kit, and went back around the back of the couch to put it back in the kitchen. She spoke a little louder now. "Well, when she came home looking like some sort of prize-fighter rather than the dainty ballerina I had sent off to school that morning, I was at a loss." Sharon smiled a bit at the memory. She certainly was nostalgic tonight, wasn't she? Especially about Beth. She needed to call her in the morning. Sharon walked back over to the couch and settled in next to Rusty again, facing him with one leg folded under her, the other hanging off the side. "So, naturally, I asked her what happened. Beth spun a dramatic and complex tale involving another dancer who'd clearly had a vendetta against her for _years_." She looked over at Rusty and lowered her voice conspiratorially. "My dear Beth also has a flair for the dramatic, not unlike a certain sixteen-year-old we all know." She winked. Rusty looked mildly affronted, but Sharon could tell she had him going with this story, so he didn't say anything. "Well, events conspired in some terribly complex way that I have long since forgotten, and this other dancer ended up flinging her toe-shoes over her shoulder in a dramatic fashion, if you can imagine, and one of them hit my poor Beth square in the face." She stopped for effect. She loved to tell this story. It was one of those stories you told at family reunions that never really got old. And it was worth it just for the look of comical confusion on Rusty's face at the moment.

"Wait, wait, wait." Rusty finally broke the silence. "She got a black eye and a split lip from a pair of _ballet shoes_?" Sharon could tell he was trying not to laugh. "But those are like, the flimsiest shoes in the history of shoes. Like, they're the closest thing to being barefoot while still wearing shoes, right?" The laugh he was fighting back had reached his eyes. The sad, deadened look had been gone since Sharon had started her story, but now they were twinkling with laughter. She liked them much better this way.

"Oh no, honey," she started, "these were not just plain old ballet shoes. These were _toe-_shoes. You know how the dancers manage to stay up on their toes in them? There's a two-inch block of solid wood in the toe of the shoe. Those shoes are positively _lethal_." She watched Rusty's face as realization hit. "Anyway," Sharon continued, "the incident was deemed an accident by everyone involved except, of course, for Beth." She smiled. "To this day, Beth still claims that girl had a vendetta against her. She did have her revenge, though, eventually."

Sharon could tell she really had him going at this point. He had even scooted down the couch to be closer to her as she told the story. "What did she do to the other girl?" Rusty asked breathlessly.

Sharon grinned at him. "That, Rusty, is a story for another time. It is way past my bed time." She couldn't help but giggle a little at his exclamations. It was worth it just to see him smile like that after the day he'd had.

"Come on, Sharon! That is so unfair! You can't string me along like that and then totally refuse to finish the story!" Rusty was outraged.

"Well," Sharon said, "Beth is coming to visit pretty soon. You should ask her to tell you the story when she comes. She tells it better than I do anyway." She got up from the couch and started back towards her bedroom, ignoring Rusty's continued protests. At the last moment, she looked back at Rusty, still seated on the couch. "Rusty," she said seriously, "we will get this business with Mr. Dunn sorted out. I promise you. He is never going to bother you ever again." She smiled softly at him and turned back towards the hall.

"Sharon."

Rusty had risen from the couch and was now walking towards her. He stopped right in front of her, and she put her hand gingerly up to his face. Surprisingly, he didn't turn away. He looked at her intently. "Thank you," he said seriously. "For everything."

**AN: Okay, that ending was a little cheesy, so sue me. Some fun facts- Sharon's daughter is based on my own sister, who just happens to be a dancer and around the age that I imagine her to be. The story about the shoes? 100% true. I'm leaving this story incomplete for the moment. If you all are interested, I might be persuaded to write a little sequel in which Beth or Sharon or both reveal the rest of the story. Reviews make my days sunny! **


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